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Out On the Jetty
There was that boundary
breached by a thin line,
a transparent nerve
linking two worlds.
My fingers could feel
the constant chatter
conveyed along
that tightened length,
the winds annoyance
and below, the play
of water telegraphed upwards
in a quivering morse.
I sensed
the sweep of currents,
the movement of weed
and the passing drift
of waste shorebound
from the gulf.
Yet something more
had gathered
to find voice there,
something not fitted
to any form
I could catch
and give a name.
A deep resonance
had taken the line
and crossed
that tactile bridge
and into mind.
I was no more
than its clumsy glove
wired to whatever
will it had and chose
to reveal.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
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